Resurgence
by The Shipping Queen
Summary: Misty Day had scarcely done anything truly wrong in her entire life, and trapped herself in hell when the test of The Seven Wonders went awry. The others aren't quite so willing to just let it go, though; and, as it turns out, Papa Legba isn't so big on injustice. Will be some Foxxay/Gooday in addition to the cannon pairs. Rated T for now, maybe Rated M later.
1. Senseless Discipline

Title: Resurgence

Summary: Misty Day had scarcely done anything truly wrong in her entire life, and trapped herself in hell when the test of The Seven Wonders went awry. The others aren't quite so willing to just let it go, though; and, as it turns out, Papa Legba isn't so big on injustice. Will be some Foxxay/Gooday in addition to the cannon pairs.

Chapter One: Senseless Discipline

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For Misty Day, the worst torture one could possibly endure would be feeling responsible for taking an innocent creature's life. The moment her hell took her back to was when she was around ten or twelve years old, still feeling powerless and terrified of her parents (who hated her- _oh_ they hated her something _fierce_ ), surrounded by children who were significantly more willing to believe in her abilities than the teacher. Her mind was stuck in that childhood of constantly trying to suppress her abilities, hiding- primarily- from that look her pa gave her the day she discovered that she had something different, something special, inside her. The day she cried over her pa killing a rat (running around, screaming "Filthy varmin! Filthy varmin!"), and he'd left it on the front porch. Her four-year-old self was out in the outdoors, mourning the loss of life, when some tug deep within her chest told her _Touch it, touch it_ \- and she remembered what they said in Sunday School about that still, small voice of the Holy Spirit, so she did. It's neck was broken; that was the fact she'd gleaned from the contact, though it was just a 'knowing' that couldn't be explained. Within seconds, she'd found herself on her knees, feeling a strange vibration in the center of her brain, and she lowered her face towards the rat's as though she thought she could...well, she wasn't really thinking anything...but that tug spoke to her again and said _Breathe! Breathe and share your life force!_ and she'd thought of the breath of life that God gave Adam in the book of Genesis and she felt for her own life force and she breathed. She could feel her life force wrap around the creature and restart his heart and she held him- however unwilling he was- to her chest and whispered "Now don'chu be comin' back here, Mousey. My pa won't like it," and he left. He walked with his head cocked crookedly to the side (for healing wasn't a power she'd learn until much later) and when she went back inside proudly to tell her pa what had happened and that he only needed to speak to the creatures to get them to go away, he gave her a glower of pure hatred and screeched that she was the anti-Christ and clobbered her across the face.

"Why'd you hit me, Pa?" she cried and clutched the throbbing side of her face. "I was list'nin to the little voice like the pastor tol' me-"

And he got down to her level so he could glare straight into her eyes with a look that would turn lava to stone-cold ice. He grabbed her shoulders so furious and hard that it jerked her and she cried out in pain, and in his low, deep voice he said "Don'chu be blasphemin' the Good Lord, girl! Jesus Christ 'imself is the only one who could bring the dead to life!" and he smacked her again, this time on the other side of her face, but she couldn't get away because his other arm held her. "Necromancers! Witches! You do somethin' like this again- you _say_ somethin' like this again- and I'll have you burnt up, girl! Do you hear me?!"

"I-I-"

"This ain't no damn essay question, girl!" she was sobbing in terror, but it only made him clasp her harder- bring her closer- insist more loudly: "You damn devil! Satan! Anti-Christ! I know them ain't yer' real tears! Them is croc-o-dile tears, sent to put me off! Now you answer me!"

"I hear you! I hear you!"

He pushed her down so she was on her knees and barked one last order that was "Now you pray for forgiveness, miss Misty Day! You renounce that demon inside you that tells ya' ta' raise the dead to life or by God I'll be forced to burn the bastard out of you!"

And the little blonde cried so hard she choked on her tears and nodded fervently in obedience. "Yes, pa," she bawled, willing to do anything she could to appease him. She'd never, in her whole four-year-old life, seen him that mad about anything. Sure, he'd wacked her good a few times when she "mouthed off" or did something she wasn't supposed to, but she couldn't comprehend why he was so angry with her. When he finally walked away, he mumbled to himself that he just must not have killed that rat all the way and she was greatful- ever so greatful- that her mother hadn't been there with him. Her mother, in many ways, was a more fearsome creature than her father- more hurtful with her words and manipulation than with her hands. She didn't think he'd ever told her, she surely would have heard about it, and perhaps the fact that he'd neglected to do such was his way of apologizing for the over-reaction. Southern men, especially in those days, had a lot of pride about apologizing- especially to their daughters. You couldn't expect one to just walk in and say "I'm sorry, I was wrong-" their apologies came more discreetly, in the form of an extra hour of sleep the next day before getting up to milk the cows or, perhaps, in not informing one's mother of their abilities.

But her science classroom tested her resolve to renounce those powers. There were dead frogs floating in jars and dead butterflies pinned to a board and for what? For decoration? So that a bunch of kids could cut into them? So, rather than renounce that gift completely, she'd tried to be discreet. Someone had suspected that a particular student, most likely a male, was frog-napping the experiments, but they never showed up anywhere (of course, Misty made sure they were all returned safely to the swamp). One day, she was caught by the students- actually, one particular student- the boy who bullied her, whose name (Georgie Clapton) hadn't escaped her in the hundreds of years it had been since then and the rumors started going. At first, the teacher had protected her to the rest of the community by telling them it was a sleight of hand trick, that she was probably hiding the dead ones or throwing them somewhere else. They didn't suspect she was a witch- a trouble maker, but not a witch- and that protected her, at least in her childhood. But that protection was a double-edged sword, because he refused to allow her to opt-out of the dissection without a note from her parents (and both were unwilling to give one). She hated Georgie Clapton and she hated the teacher and what she hated the most was the sickening feeling of flesh splitting apart under the sharpened scalpel.

She wasn't aware of being older than ten. She was only vaguely aware that she'd been repeating this same scenario over and over, in streaks of deja vu. It didn't occur to her that her parents were long gone, that she'd come back from the dead, or that (thanks to Cordelia) she now had more power than what any mere man would be able to handle. In hell, she was taunted relentlessly and forced to feel the death of a small, defenseless frog under her hand and she was completely powerless to stop it.

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Zoe Benson was perfectly aware that she owed Misty a great deal. She was reminded of it every time she looked at Kyle. Yes, it had been Madison who brought him back, but Misty healed him. Cared for him. She brought Madison back when they needed her. She cared for Myrtle, without whom Cordelia would have never realized her power. If not for her friendship, there would be no council for her to be a part of, and the coven would likely have crumbled under Fiona's willingness to murder her own daughter and secure her immortality. More than that, though, the woman was innocent. She harbored no evils, loved all creatures, cared even for the most hopeless of beings.

And she was stuck in hell.

She still remembered that moment- that pitiful moment- when the innocent girl begged her to stay, or to let the boy stay. It had occurred to her then that the woman was probably lonely, but she hadn't realized the extent of it until later.

 _"Don't worry, I'll come back,"_

 _"No...you won't,"_

"Girl," Queenie's voice startled her out of her thoughts. "What are you doing? It's past midnight. Miss Cordelia wants us bright-eyed and bushy-tailed by seven for new student orientation,"

'New Student Orientation,' since the television broadcasting, had been going on once if not twice a week. All council members (and, of course, the Supreme) were expected to be present.

"I could ask you the same thing," she replied, innocently enough. Secrets weren't kept so easily in this house, though in this case, it wasn't unconscious mind reading but Queenie's perceptiveness that saw through the situation like an open book.

"Zo, you've been through every book in the library. Don't you think it's time you give it a rest?"

Zoe frowned back at her. She said that every time they had a conversation about this. "I can't 'give it a rest,' Queenie," she answered, though that explanation never seemed to be exactly enough for her. "She trusted us, and now she's stuck in hell. Because of us,"

"She chose to go through the test, Zoe. She knew what she was getting into,"

Zoe shook her head at that. "She never would have gone through it if she hadn't met us,"

"You mean Fiona. We had nothing to do with it,"

That was a fair enough interpretation of the events, so Zoe gave her a nod. "I still don't want to leave her there, Queenie. If there's a way I can get her out- any way at all- I want to try,"

There came a light, tapping knock on the door. With twenty-odd girls in the house, and more piling in every day, they never knew exactly who it was who might need them- only that they recognized the knock.

"Gi-" Cordelia started to call them 'girls' out of habit, but stopped herself and corrected with "Zoe? Queenie? Is that you in there?"

"Yes, Ms. Cordelia," they both responded. She opened the door and peeked in.

"Not to pry, ladies, but we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow,"

"We understand," Zoe answered with a light smile. "I don't plan to be up much later,"

"I was just takin' care of a problem with one of the girls," there was a silent understanding in the room of what Queenie meant when she said that. One of the new girls had gone into her first menstrual cycle and, in a rare handful of practitioners, the start of one's first cycle could mark the beginning or an intensification of their magical abilities.

Cordelia smiled softly and replied "You don't have to explain yourself to me, Queenie, it was just a friendly suggestion," she looked at Zoe curiously, wanting to see if the girl would reveal what she was up to but not wanting to pry and come off as a nag.

"You can ask if you want to know, Ms. Cordelia,"

"I've told you over and over, you don't-"

"-have to call you 'Ms.' Cordelia," both of them replied in unison. Referring to her differently, though, felt strange. Even the idea was weird, not just because she had been their teacher, but also because she was now the Supreme. Both of them felt that, so they had continued referring to her that way in spite of these near-protests.

She stopped talking for a second and looked away, somewhat flustered, before continuing. "I would like to know what's keeping you up so late, Zoe, but you don't have to tell me,"

"It's okay," she shrugged one shoulder. Telling her that she had an ongoing personal project with trying to get Misty out of hell felt wrong. It seemed like something Cordelia shouldn't know. She trusted that intuition, for the moment, without questioning it. She wanted to keep it as secret as possible. "I'm just studying- the test of the Seven Wonders. How it originated," she swirled the tip of her pointer finger around and around the page she was looking at. The look on Cordelia's face told her that she wasn't buying it, that she knew there was more to it, but she also trusted her not to pry into her mind for more answers than she was willing to give. If it had been Fiona, she probably would have said 'Exactly how full of shit do you think I am?' or something to that effect. Before Cordelia really had a chance to respond, though, Zoe injected a question into the little chat; "Do you know what going into hell has to do with being the Supreme, Ms. Cordelia?"

She was visibly taken aback by the inquiry. All the books on the Seven Wonders, including the Secret Books, simply stated that they were abilities that elevated all magic into an 'art form.' "No, I'm afraid I don't,"

She knew the question was probably a dead give away, but even if it was, no one was talking. "It just seems weird that someone would want us to put ourselves in mortal danger unless there was a reason for it,"

Somehow, Zoey thought saying that might throw Cordelia off her trail, but based on that responding sympathetic smile and the way she walked in and started stroking her hair, she'd just succeeding in practically giving herself away. "I can't tell you what they were thinking,"

With that, she closed the book and slid it back on the desk, contemplating whether or not to leave it there. There didn't seem to be any information of use in it, nor in any other book in here. Maybe she'd have to get creative. But there probably wasn't much more she could do tonight. "Thanks," she gave them each with sincere gratitude. "I think I'm prepared enough for the new students tomorrow. See you guys in the morning,"

Queenie replied with an expected "'Night,"

And Cordelia actually turned to watch her leave and said- "Goodnight, Zoey," then looked back. "Queenie," as her name was called, the human-voodoo doll turned back towards her and gave a quizzical 'Hm?' "I want you to keep an eye on her,"

She nodded understandingly. "I try. 's why I came to the library after, 'stead o' going to bed," when it came to magic, both of them understood how easy it would be to get reckless- and Zoey had done so before, with the Axeman on the ouija board.

"Thank you. But you don't need to give up your sleep to do me a favor," she decided she was done for the evening, though, and gave Queenie a little pat on the shoulder. "I'm going to bed, myself. See you in the morning,"

"'Night." she replied and left the room herself.


	2. Change of Heart

Title: Resurgence

Summary: Misty Day had scarcely done anything truly wrong in her entire life, and trapped herself in hell when the test of The Seven Wonders went awry. The others aren't quite so willing to just let it go, though; and, as it turns out, Papa Legba isn't so big on injustice. Will be some Foxxay/Gooday in addition to the cannon pairs.

Chapter Two: Change of Heart

A/N: I received a guest review on this story and I wanted to say 'Thank you' for the positive comments :3 I would have preferred to respond directly, but as I said, you were a guest!

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Nan's true place in the world of souls had become a subject of question at best. The murder she'd committed was executed with righteous anger, something Papa Legba- of all people- could understand. It was certainly not something that earned her an eternity in hell, yet he was wont to send her to heaven. Not because of that crime, but because of her gift.

Not long after he'd taken her soul, she'd began clasping her hands over her ears. He could feel her wondering why she was still hearing everyone, trying to puzzle it through her head. "Where are they?!" she'd complain, looking around in the empty spaces. "They're so loud!"

Her brain was probably too scrambled from the piercing cries to have figured out what Papa Legba had: she wasn't hearing the thoughts of the living anymore, but the thoughts of the dead- and, more particularly, those in hell. At times, he'd have to help deafen her himself, and placing his own hands over her ears was more effective than her own hands.

He wasn't exactly sure what she could do with this gift yet, but he wasn't quite willing to let her go until he found out.

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New student orientations were an exercise in the bizarre for everybody. On any given week, there could be between three and twenty-five girls showing up at the front door, and they had to somehow prepare themselves for all of them. Cordelia, true to her word, had indeed started work with contractors and real estate to expand Robichaux's- but buildings could only be built so quickly. As of this particular day, only one other location had been completed- but it was entirely un-staffed. If they got really desperate for extra space, they could use it as at least a place to sleep, but none of them were particularly keen on the idea of leaving a group of otherwise vulnerable girls unattended- even if it was only a few miles away. Class times had to be changed, enough food for every teenage girl in the state had to be prepared, rooming arrangements had to be made- and anyone who wasn't exactly sure of the nature of their ability had to be tested. Anyone who seemed they might have a particularly difficult time learning had to be assigned a tutor who not only showed impressive comprehension but who also showed compassion and teaching ability. Prescriptions had to be documented, anyone who was ill needed treatment, and some of the girls were facing imminent danger- whether for their abilities or for some entirely different reason- and, when that happened, everyone had to take precautions.

By the end of the day, the only person who wasn't miliseconds away from collapsing was Cordelia. The others occasionally joked that the Supreme didn't need to sleep, but it was a joke they reserved only for moments when she wasn't around. Not that they feared her, they just sensed that she might be more sensitive than she seemed. The energy level in the room was borderline narcoleptic anyways, with the new Supreme taking on Kyle's job of cooking dinner for her council members (and, yes, Kyle).

"Maybe we should consider hiring some more help," she suggested, as she did every week. Kyle didn't react as though he heard her, but the others did. They nodded and said nothing. She didn't push them to talk. In a few minutes, all four of them had full plates at the dinner table.

The three others just stared at the plates for quite a number of seconds in a complete daze. They were, of course, starved after such a busy day, but eating would require more moving. Kyle muttered a "Thank you" that sounded more like an appreciative grunt and took the first bite.

"No, thank you," she giggled lightly, watching them paw around with their utensils in zombie-like confusion. "You put a lot of effort into running this place,"

He grunted, gave a single, firm nod, and scooped more food onto his fork with little regard for what it was.

"When did it become wrong to fall asleep in your mashed potatoes?" Zoe commented, her voice hoarse and groaning. She picked her fork up as well, finally, and started into said potatoes. Kyle gave a light smile that might have been a laugh if his muscles weren't so sore from carrying loads and loads of luggage around.

"Girl, I'm not judging," Queenie answered.

That was the extent of dinner-time conversation. At the end, Kyle instinctively got up to tend to the dishes, but Cordelia grabbed his arm as he walked passed her.

"Huh?" he half-grunted, half-asked in slight shock. He looked at her, and she shook her head at him with a playful little smile.

"Give that here," she motioned at his plate. He looked bewildered, but obliged. "You three take the rest of the night to re-charge,"

Kyle was still confused by this offer, even though she made it every week- after every orientation. Even with the weekend starting tomorrow, it was a big relief. They all mumbled obligatory "Thank-you's" at various times, Zoe said it twice as she couldn't remember having said it the first time. Cordelia smiled fondly at all of them.

"I'm really the one who should be thanking you,"

No one had to move from the table for the plates to be transported into the sink- swiftly and gently. Soda cans and paper napkins floated into the trash. Without saying anything more, the headmistress of the school left the chair and started tidying up the dishes. The others silently wondered why she would do such a thing manually, but didn't have the energy to ask. They eventually filed out of the room, Kyle walking awkwardly from the ache in both legs, and vanished from Cordelia's sight.

She assumed they would be off to shower and then into their bedrooms. It only took a few minutes to tidy up the kitchen and get everything back in order. When she entered into the living room, however, she realized that even the prospect of walking up the stairs to their bedrooms must have been too much for those three. Queenie was sitting on a couch cushion, slumped over the arm rest, snoring lightly while Zoe lay stomach-down on top of Kyle on another couch. They were slumped over each other, sprawled out like a bunch of beached whales, and Cordelia laughed quietly to herself.

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Zoe wasn't startled at first when she felt herself reaching consciousness the next morning. It was Kyle's "Hm?" that jolted her into the realization that the bedroom was not where they had fallen asleep, but it was where they had woken up. She vaguely remembered falling asleep in strange places around the house as a child and being carried into bed by her parents after the fact. Cordelia would make a good mother, she thought, and clutched onto Kyle's arm.

"What time is it?" he mumbled in his sleepy voice, looking out the window where bright light was shining through.

"Who cares?" she answered, placing her head on his shoulder. "We have the day off,"

He smiled at her and stroked her hair back. "So we do," it became evident that he hadn't realized this as he was waking up. "What should we do with it?" he leaned towards her and kissed her gently on the lips. She pulled out of it and giggled.

"Kyle, I haven't brushed my teeth yet," she warned; "And I don't...I don't think I even showered last night,"

He kissed her again, this time on the cheek, and cuddled up beside her. "That doesn't bother me, you know," he told her, his eyes drifting downwards. "You always make such a mess, we end up having to shower after anyways,"

She laughed at him and kissed him back, but she still wasn't quite willing to disrobe before getting herself cleaned up. "Come on then, Kyle," she urged, getting out of the bed; "Let's shower together,"

"You don't think someone might hear us?"

She smirked coyly. "We're dead, remember? No one can hear us,"

He grunted, sat up, and stretched. "I wasn't talking about the telepathy,"

Zoe tossed him a pair of boxers and some clothes. "Not my fault you're a screamer," she said, and he chuckled softly. "Come on, let's go before someone realizes we're up,"

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Queenie was up and at 'em while the two of them were still in the shower. It was about noon, Cordelia was actually making lunch for everyone (which was unusual at best, since their body clocks normally got them up earlier and the students were allowed free reign in the kitchen on weekends so Kyle could have some days off) and a healthy majority of the girls were out on the town by now- either working some kind of job, scouring the mall, or spending some time at a bookstore or with a club. A lucky few went home, to spend time with their families. The house was relatively quiet.

"Do you have any plans for today?" Cordelia asked the only girl who'd stepped into the kitchen thus far. Queenie grabbed a soda from the fridge and sat down at the table.

"Not really," she told her; "Maybe go to the movies or something,"

She shrugged and set a plate down in front of her, which shocked her a bit (as she hadn't known the food was for them), and then sat down a few chairs away.

"This chicken pot pie is rockin', by the way,"

"Well, you're the one who taught me how to make it,"

Queenie gave her a pointed stare in response. "You could just accept a compliment,"

And Cordelia grinned. "Thank you,"

It was minutes later when the other two entered the kitchen, damp from the shower (but fully clothed), giggling to each other. Queenie rolled her eyes at them with an 'aren't-they-so-disgusting' expression, and Cordelia lowered her head towards the table to stifle a giggle- primarily at her reaction. Zoe was heading for the fridge when the Supreme told her "Lunch is on the counter," and she turned back in mild shock.

"You made lunch, Ms. Cordelia?"

"It's awesome," the only educated voodoo practitioner spoke before the addressed woman could.

"Yes, I did,"

The two of them barely muttered "Thank you"'s and "I'm starved"'s before wolfing down the food.

"Well, do the two of you have any plans for today?" her question to them was more serious, though they wouldn't have known that to compare.

"Actually," Zoe smiled slightly; "we do," Kyle looked at her quizzically, but he didn't ask and she didn't explain it- at least, not to him. "We're going to the bookstore,"

Cordelia looked her over with a mix of skepticism and relief. She'd never probe someone's mind intentionally for information they didn't want to give, and neither she nor Queenie were "unconscious" clairvoyants, so she had to accept this response. For the past months, her answer had normally been something along the lines of "I'm staying in today, I've got a project I'm working on," and, although she had always been vague about that project ("It's nothing," "You'll see it if I ever finish it," "Just brushing up on my studies..."), Cordelia had a pretty good idea of what it was. Truth be told, Zoe was herself certain that the Supreme probably knew on one level or another, she just wasn't going to be the one to say it.

"What about you?" she inquired casually.

The Supreme shrugged. "You forget- the day is already half over for me,"

Zoe and Kyle both smiled sheepishly back, trying not to make a disgusting scene with their full mouths, and manually discarded their plates in the sink. Kyle, out of habit, started to wash them- but Cordelia telekinetically turned the faucet off on him.

"Most college frat boys aren't so interested in doing the dishes," she joked, to Zoe's amusement.

"Most parents are probably telling them to wash the dishes," he agreed in a similar joking manner, though he was internally shocked to hear himself verbally refer to her as a 'parent,' and this wasn't lost on her, either.

"Go," she tried to hide a small, flattered smile, but it didn't exactly work. "You deserve a day with no chores,"

"Thanks, Ms. Cordelia," Zoe answered for him; "Kyle, let's go," she grabbed his arm and he willingly followed her.

Queenie watched them leave with unhappy disbelief at their story. "Bookstore, huh?" she evaluated, brows furrowed. Oh, she was not buying that for one second. Cordelia took to bustling about the kitchen temporarily to get things cleaned up (again). "You know, Ms. Cordelia, I think I'm gonna head out now, too,"

"Okay. Have a good time at the movies,"

"Uh-huh. I'm sure it'll be real entertaining," and, with that, she left as well.

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Kyle and Zoe were already moments into their little excursion when the boy finally looked over at her and mentioned;

"The bookstore is in the other direction,"

Her responding glance, at first appeared stern, but quickly lightened up into a laugh. "That's because we aren't going to the bookstore,"

"We're not?"

She shook her head. "No. We're going to the library,"

Perplexed; "But the library is-"

"The _other_ library,"

His face fell to a solemn understanding. "Oh,"

What she was referring to, he'd gleaned from her emphasis, was a library on Voodoo practices. Prior to Cordelia's rise to power, this library had been strictly off-limits to all witch craft practitioners, but since the two groups had formed an alliance (and Queenie received a position on the Council) they had beed granted special permission to enter. Only a select few truly accepted their presence in the library, hence, they tended not to frequent- but Zoe was still working on that "project." Kyle didn't object; he just looped his arm around hers.

They stuck out like sore thumbs in that library, even with the fairly large group of people who were conjugated there over any given weekend. Zoe felt the disapproving glances of the few who openly disagreed with the new policies but tried to ignore them while Kyle remained blissfully unaware. They chose a few books each to look at and sat down at one of the small, wooden tables strategically placed for such activities.

The library was mostly quiet except for the low murmurs and whispers of other patrons. Living at Robichaux's, Zoe had gotten used to doing things with a lot more noise, anyways- so it passed well below her radar. Some of the material in these books was too steep for her to grasp without knowing the basics of voodoo, she had to guess at some of the information, and not all of the words could be directly translated into English- but she tried. So did Kyle, who must have been even more confused than she was. This would be a lot easier if they had help from someone who knew this stuff.

It had only been perhaps an hour when Queenie showed up, holding a large styrofoam cup in her hand from a near-by gas station where she'd stopped for a refreshment. Neither of them noticed her until said cup thunked softly on the table, and the soda inside made a sloshing sound.

"The bookstore, huh?" she said, narrowing her eyes accusatorily.

Zoe mentally scrambled for something she could say, but you didn't exactly just get lost and find yourself at the Library of Voodoo Practices. It was a well-hidden structure, hidden underground. It wasn't a place you just went to on a whim or something you "just decided to try." Queenie was more perceptive than to believe that kind of shit, anyways, so she just sat there with her mouth opened slightly, made a soft grunting sound, and stopped.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous this could be?!" even though she couldn't really raise her voice in the library, her tone and conveyed enough anger. "Voodoo works different from Witchcraft!"

"Yeah, I see that," she smiled sheepishly at the small pile of books she didn't exactly understand, but Queenie wasn't deterred.

"You have no idea what you're even looking at!" if they weren't out in public, she might have whacked both of them with the books; "You can't just walk into a library and start performing release rituals!"

"Queenie, will you calm down?" Zoe spoke back in a whisper. Kyle silently watched them, feeling he should do something but not knowing what.

"Girl, this is calm!" she pushed the books back. "This kind of shit was bad enough when you were just starting at Witchcraft and had no power, but you're a member of the council now! Ms. Cordelia is counting on you, the girls look up to you- do you know what kind of consequences this could bring up?!" she reached over and picked up a book at random to wave around; "How many people you could hurt?!"

Zoe, finally tired of being lectured, gave a hard stare back. "So, what? I should just give up because the answers don't just fall right out of the sky and hit me in the face?" by now, their conflict had become apparent and some of the other patrons were watching, though they hadn't (yet) been asked to leave. "We were granted positions in the council because we were willing to do whatever we had to keep each other safe! All of us! All witches! Does that change now that we have titles?!"

"You are being reckless!"

"Well, maybe if we had someone who knew about this stuff, it wouldn't be!" that wasn't how she intended to ask for help, but that was how it happened. "But I'm not giving up just because it isn't easy!"

"Are you really going to insist on this?!" Queenie thumped the book back down.

Zoe thought a minute and heaved a sigh. She might not be able to reason with her while she was angry. "I'd do the same for you, Queenie," she muttered. "I wouldn't just let you rot there. Not after what we went through in hell,"

She let out a long breath of hot air. There was no "out of steam" when it came to Queenie, and there really wasn't any "backing down." On rare occasions, however, she was willing to take a step back and reconsider. It didn't happen often, but it happened when it needed to, and this was one of those times. "You cannot be reckless with this stuff," she insisted firmly.

"I know,"

Queenie gave her another disgruntled breath of hot air. "Don't do anything without checking with me first. You got it?"

Zoe smiled with relief. It was as sincere an offer for help as any. "Yeah. I got it,"

"Anything- I mean _anything_ ,"

"I won't. I won't do anything unless I check with you first," wanting to ease the tension, she added; "Okay?"

Queenie huffed and took one of the open seats at the table. "Okay," she said; "Show me what you're looking at,"


	3. Reasons

Title: Resurgence

Summary: Misty Day had scarcely done anything truly wrong in her entire life, and trapped herself in hell when the test of The Seven Wonders went awry. The others aren't quite so willing to just let it go, though; and, as it turns out, Papa Legba isn't so big on injustice. Will be some Foxxay/Gooday in addition to the cannon pairs.

Chapter Three: Reasons

A/N: Sorry to anyone who might have been bothered by me constantly spelling Zoe's name wrong, I had this compulsion to keep adding a 'y' after it and couldn't stop.

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The most logical thing to do after exhausting all of their obvious options at the library was try to get in touch with Papa Legba, himself. Queenie insisted on being the one to make the journey, leaving Kyle and Zoe over a figure that looked comatose, watching the hourglass and waiting for her return. Before her departure, they made sure to have a glass of water nearby- those journeys to hell tended to take the saliva right out of your throat.

Right around the time the sand in the hourglass reached the half-way point, she sat up abruptly and sucked in air like she'd never before experienced oxygen in her life. As the sharp gasps gave way to deep pants, she swung her arm over to Zoe, who interpreted the motion without any further analysis needed and handed her the glass of water.

"That didn't take long,"

"Didn't need long," she wiped her mouth, breaths returning to normal. The glass was drained, so she set it down.

"What did you find out?"

Without hesitation, she answered; "He said he can't do it,"

"…he…" Kyle grasped Zoe's shoulders, seeing her heart drop in the look on her face. "He's the ruler of hell! Why can't he?!"

"Because," she began, tone full of exasperation, as though Zoe should have known this before even having asked. The larger female began to stand up. "he didn't put her in,"

The room fell silent.

Queenie started to take the glass into the kitchen, now fully adjusted to being back in her own skin, and that was the first time anyone spoke again. She turned back to them and mentioned; "I think we need to talk to the girls tomorrow, too. He said there 've been other people here who are trying to contact him,"

For every answer they were getting, two more questions would pop up. Zoe followed her out into the kitchen, where grabbed a soda from the refrigerator and started unloading the refrigerator with food items to make a sandwich. Kyle trailed behind Zoe and sat beside her at the kitchen table. After a solid couple minutes of sitting in absolute silence, the dark-haired girl voiced her lament; "We've failed,"

"You can do this," Kyle disagreed, encouragingly grabbing her shoulder.

Queenie closed the refrigerator door; "We'll figure it out," and sat down.

Zoe sighed and glanced over at her with a question that had been nagging her since earlier that afternoon; "What made you change your mind, Queenie?"

She shrugged. The larger girl wasn't really one to bare her soul to others, so she simply said "It's for Ms. Cordelia," and Zoe, assuming she was referring to how much their Supreme had lost in her rise to Supremacy, nodded and asked no more.

Truth be told, one needn't be as perceptive as Queenie to know Cordelia was the type to blame herself for anything and everything that went wrong. It was something written all over her face, burned into her body language, a truth that radiated from every fiber of her being. And, while it was a given that she surely must have blamed herself for all the losses suffered during the events leading up to her test of the Seven Wonders, that wasn't her primary motivation for changing her mind.

Queenie's mother wasn't half the woman or a fraction of the parent Cordelia was. Her "broken home" consisted of an absentee mom, an over-worked dad, and three younger siblings who relied on her for structure. The only worthwhile thing that woman had given her was her chicken pot pie recipe, which Queenie had tweaked and improved on over time. She wasn't supposed to have time to enjoy her high school days, between enforcing discipline on those kids and working at a shitty dead-end job, with no academic or professional prospects whatsoever. And sticking her arm into a vat of boiling oil to summon up that power of transference she often used to keep her siblings inside when they misbehaved should have been something she would regret, but it wasn't. After Cordelia accepted her into the coven, she had goals. Something for her hungry mind to learn and someone to teach her how to use the gift her mother had passed down to her. The headmistress kept her fed, bought her clothes, gave her gifts during the holidays, made sure she had time off, and- even more importantly- encouraged her. She had literally rescued her from her own personal hell. And eventually, it wasn't just Cordelia who had wormed her way in as a member of Queenie's family; so had Nan, and she had even managed to share a bond with Madison. Now, there was also Zoe and Kyle who had grown on her.

Perhaps that was why it bothered her so much when Delphine flat-out told her that the girls would never accept her as a sister because of her skin tone. Because, to her, that had never mattered. And it was absolute bullshit that they wouldn't be able to see her as she saw them over something so insignificant. She realized the notion was dead wrong after they welcomed her back with open arms, when they told her they had missed her, when they asked her about what she'd learned while she was away. They saw her as family.

Then, of course, there was Hank. Queenie was perceptive enough to smell the bullshit on him from a mile away. And she had shushed Nan when the clairvoyant picked up on his cheating ways, telling her the same thing her father told her when she over-stepped his boundaries; "Leave adult business to the adults." It was the one time Nan could actually have been silenced from saying anything. Between that and abandoning them when they needed her, Queenie felt a great debt- and to Cordelia, especially. And bringing back Misty, well…it was something she could do. One less person she would have lost.

Kyle, sensing Zoe was still feeling defeated, raised his hand between her shoulder blades in an attempt to comfort her.

"C'mon," the larger female said, standing as she finished her snack; "We should get to bed. It's late,"

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"Now, Nan," Papa Legba began, standing directly across from her in a world that was really just a big expanse of gray; the only place they could go where she wouldn't hear the voices. "I think I've finally figured out what to do about this…breeched contract,"

"I'm not evil!" she insisted, obviously offended with being called a 'breeched contract.'

He chuckled. "Oh, I know. You aren't evil. You just have a strong passion for justice,"

"Right!"

"I have a very important job for you to do, Nan,"

And, of course, she responded with a sort of devilish look; "How important?"

Papa Legba grinned and gave out a small chuckle. "More important, even, than being the Supreme,"

At this, she was suddenly extremely interested. "What? What?!"

Still grinning, the ruler of hell went on; "I need someone who can set innocent souls free of their hell,"

"What? Why can't you do it? You own hell!"

"Because," his mood never faltered. Truth be told, he always did get along quite well with Nan; "if Papa Legba didn't put them in, Papa Legba cannot let them out. It's always been that way,"

Nan didn't seem to take much time to think. The prospect of doing a job that would make her more important than the Supreme was just too much for her to pass up. "I'll do it!" she agreed impulsively, then stopped herself; "How do you know I can do that?"

"Well," he chuckled; "There's only one way to find out,"

"And what's that?" she asked, enunciating so that she sounded snappy and irritated, though she actually wasn't.

"When you hear the voices, just follow one of them. See where it takes you,"

The voices came flooding into her mind again when they left, arriving in another large void- this one an endless expanse of slate gray littered with large, fuzzy black spots that served as doors into others' hells. Nan chose one voice at random. Instead of it leading her to one of those doors, however, it transported her to another place. She was standing in what appeared to be a hospital room, looking at a woman who appeared to be in her twenties (her clairvoyance immediately stated that she was twenty-three) with an IV needle in her arm. There were nurses and techs shuffling away from her, frozen in time in the span between one repeat and another.

Nan approached the woman. Again, her psychic abilities told her that this woman- Joanna McGregor- was severely injured in a car accident at age twenty-three (hence, that would be her age in hell). Her legs were smashed beyond repair and they kept her on so much medication that she never knew where or who she was or what had happened to her. They even suspected that the injuries might kill her (though they wouldn't, she survived and lived on to be fifty). The rest of the story ended when she was cursed here by a wayward witch. Well, she knew she could get in here…now what? Her clairvoyance didn't tell her.

Time was still frozen, though it seemed she was regaining some sense of herself. The hospital patient turned her head slowly to face Nan.

"Where am I?" she slurred in a morphine-induced haze.

"You're in hell," Nan blurted out.

"…nooo…" she whined, her head falling limply to the left.

Nan was immediately infuriated with the unfairness of the situation. Not caring that she was completely doped up, the clairvoyant reached for the woman's wrist. "You don't belong here," she said, and those words caused a little bit of color to return to her. She seemed somehow less high on morphine, more solid behind her eyes. She cleared the woman's mind as much as she could with a mind-control suggestion; "When I take this needle out, you'll think normally again," and cautiously pulled the needle out.

Realization came over her and she began to look around, barely making out stuttering sounds that almost sounded like language. "Duh-hahm-ugh-whuh…"

As the drug-induced haze lifted from her mind, Nan noticed something; a black hole, a "back door" of sorts, had opened in the hospital ceiling. She sensed intuitively that they were supposed to go there. "There!" she announced, loudly and impulsively- the same way she did everything else, really- "We're supposed to go through there!"

With no further warning for the poor invalid woman, Nan secured a grip on her arm and they both floated up into the great black expanse.

The next thing Nan knew, she was back beside Papa Legba, staring out at a world of fuzzy doors. She felt a little disoriented and had to take a moment to assess herself and her surroundings until it finally registered.

"Looks like it worked," said Papa Legba, turning to face her. "You've helped her soul move on,"

"What happens now?"

"She was innocent, so I assume she goes to heaven," he shrugged; "That's not my domain. Now that we know you can do it, I must warn you," Nan gave him her full attention; "You must never let a soul walk through that tunnel alone. They sometimes venture back to earth, and no one knows what they might bring with them if they do,"

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Cordelia met Misty at the worst possible time. She met her on a day when she believed Myrtle to be dead, at the same time she had found out her husband was unfaithful and her mother murdered a student who was in her care. She had so many emotions to deal with at that time, she thought taking on one more might cause her to combust.

Unfortunately, feelings don't care whether or not you're ready for them. And there's hardly time for love to develop slowly when a single touch is enough to give you the complete essence of a person, tells you everything about them you might possibly need to know. She'd never considered herself gay, never considered falling for a woman, yet here she was. If Misty had survived the Test of the Seven Wonders, she would have gone on to become a full-fledged member of the coven. She would not have been considered a student, just a member of a society of witches, and Delia had planned to confess her feelings to her afterwards.

 _"You're a really good leader, Cordelia,"_

She should have figured it out then. She should have figured it out by the way she looked at her and laughed or blushed. She should have figured it out later, when Misty started with "Ms. Cordelia, I want ta tell ya somethin'" and then, when asked, barely stammered out- "I- well, I-I just…I just wanted ta tell ya I think it's great how ya stood up fer' yer'self."

But, maybe it wasn't that these little things went unnoticed. Maybe it was just that she tried so hard to ignore them, because she felt too full of emotions at the time to accept them. But now, all she was left with was a small, metal urn filled with her dusty remains. That, and the promise made to her by Papa Legba earlier that day;

 _"If you can get her out, you can keep her soul,"_  
 _"No catch. No tricks,"_  
 _"She can live out the rest of her days however she sees fit. No payment. No debts,"_  
 _"But you have to get her out,"_

She pulled her lower lip under her upper lip thoughtfully.

How on earth was she going to do that?


	4. A Break in the Chain

Title: Resurgence

Summary: Misty Day had scarcely done anything truly wrong in her entire life, and trapped herself in hell when the test of The Seven Wonders went awry. The others aren't quite so willing to just let it go, though; and, as it turns out, Papa Legba isn't so big on injustice. Will be some Foxxay/Gooday in addition to the cannon pairs.

Chapter Four: A Break in the Chain

A/N:

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After a while, Misty began to notice small pauses between each re-play of her life's worst moment. She would slowly gain little bits of self-awareness during those moments, just enough for her to realize she was repeating the same moments over and over. She resolved herself to stop it, steeled herself to fight. She'd cut the teacher open, if she had to.

Then, inevitably, she felt the memories leaving her again. She wasn't a grown woman any more, she was a child again. She was a child again and she was at the mercy of little Georgie Clapton and the teacher and her father and her mother and everyone else who lived at the compound.

"Freak! You're a freak!"

Damn it, damn it! She'd been spotted! Misty started to protest that she wasn't, but there was no time.

"Mr. Crailey, she's done it again!"

No, no, no! Not him! That man was a merciless, ruthless tyrant!

"She brought the frog back to life,"

"Shut up! She just snuck a live one in,"

 _"Help me! Help me!"_ she cried out inside her mind, not sure with whom she was pleading but pleading regardless; _"Someone, stop them! Someone! Someone! Get me out of here!"_

"If you won't dissect a dead frog, you'll have to dissect a live one,"

"I don't want to kill a living thing! You can't make me!"

"Now, you kill it or I'll have a talk with your parents,"

Some of her resolve broke. Half of her protested still, knowing full well what would await her when she got home if the teacher had to call. And if her mother knew she could bring things back from the dead, there was no telling what would become of her. She remembered a specific day at the church, when the church was still a physical building in the middle of the compound, looking out and seeing a girl she assumed was much older than she was at the time walking by. She had shoulder-length blonde hair and was wearing a blue dress, and though Misty couldn't make out much of the rest of her from this distance, she felt butterflies in her stomach. It was definite- she wanted to meet her. She wanted to introduce herself. But, while she stood there, staring dumbly at a girl who probably didn't even notice her, she felt a fierce tug on the lower part of her arm.

Her mother got down next to her ear and gave her the whispering snarl every child knows means trouble; "What do you think you're looking at?"

Because she didn't know who the person was, she shrugged.

"That's two. You either tell me the truth or you'll be in more trouble when we get home, Misty Day,"

"I'm not lyin' mama, I jus' donno who she is," she protested with a soft whine, although she knew that would get her nowhere at all.

The grip on her arm grew harder, though she knew if she cried out, her father would get involved as well and then there'd be a whooping involved in whatever discipline she got at home. "I know you know better than to look at girls like that,"

Like what? Like what?! She stared at her mother in wide-eyed confusion. All she had been thinking was that she was very pretty in that blue dress and she wanted to meet her and maybe hold her hand and hug her. That didn't seem like such a bad or awful thing to her at all! "Mama, I don' get it,"

"Then I guess," she answered with a hot glower; "we'll just have to fix you,"

And they did. Or at least, they tried. As soon as they got home, her mother took all of her belongings- which, at the time, consisted of a few stuffed animals, childrens' books, and a cassette player- and forced her to throw them into a fire pit. Then, her father whooped her with a belt for crying and they sent her to bed without dinner.

If that was how she reacted to the way she looked at a girl, how would they react when she found out she was bring things back from the dead? The only predictable outcome was that, as according to the cult's standards, she would be burned alive. But was that any worse than the sickening feeling of life leaving this poor creature?

Misty didn't have time to weigh her options. The thin, gooey, pulsating flesh of the dissection frog tore under the blade of the scalpel. Warm blood from its belly squirted against her face. She immediately wished she'd fought harder and let out a cry of agony. Selfish! How could she be so selfish?!

Pause. Break. The world grayed out a little. Before she had a chance to get a grip of herself in the situation, she noticed someone standing in front of her. She reached out her hand, forgetting the bloody scalpel that was still in it, causing it to drop to the floor. Her arm continued to flop around like a dead fish, as though she wasn't quite capable of coordinating her arm to the location of the visitor.

"Nan…Nanny-girl," she remembered the girl's name then, but evidently not how they knew each other. Confused, she tilted her head up to look at the clairvoyant; "Are ya in this class, too?"

Nan looked at Misty, and although her abilities had already fleshed out the story for her, she was still shocked over the situation she'd walked in on. She'd come to think of Misty as a friend early on because the girl had such nice thoughts. Even when everyone was silenced over the issue of Nan rising up as the Supreme, the swamp witch's failure to speak was explicitly a lack of knowledge on the whole issue- rather than a lack of belief in her as a person. All thoughts were intrusive to the clairvoyant, but Misty's were gentler- less grating- than the others.

"You don't belong here!" the girl told her emphatically, stopping her left foot on the ground angrily.

"What 're ya talkin' about? This is my…" Misty glanced around the room as the spoke, and while she did, the realization creeped up on her. The metaphorical lightbulb went off in her head. These kids were all much, much younger than her. For the first time, she remembered Nan, and slowly began to remember everyone else she'd come in contact with during the last few days of her life. "…classroom…" she choked out in the end, tears welling up inside her eyes. "Nan, Nan- I'm stuck here," this time, she actually managed to grab the clairvoyant's shirt with her slightly bloody fingertips; "Ya gotta help me,"

She looked up and around the room, searching for the exit door. It slowly opened in a corner of the wall.

Nan hesitated. If she took Misty through that tunnel, she'd move on to a better place. She'd never be able to go back home. And she knew, not because of her clairvoyance but because she knew Cordelia, that the woman would miss her. In fact, one better, she knew the headmistress had feelings for her.

"Nan-"

"I'm trying!" she stomped her foot again in her usual emotional impulsivity. Making a snap decision, she said; "I can't get you out of here. You have to get out on your own,"

"I can't!" the blonde cried; "I can't get outta here on my own! Ya gotta help me! I can't do it! I can't remember!"

"You have to!" the other girl insisted; "You have to go back to Cordelia!"

Misty halted immediately, looked down, and then looked back up at Nan. "What's Ms. Cordelia got ta do with me right now?"

The clairvoyant always found herself surprised by how little people knew about each other. She heaved a frustrated sigh. "You'll figure it out!" then, with less of her usual emotional intensity; "Tell her it's a gift from Nan,"

The blonde was clearly still dizzy with confusion. "Nan, what do I do? How can I get outta here?"

"Remember what Cordelia taught you," those words left her mouth quicker than she was really thinking of them. "You have to get out of here, Misty, you have to!"

She didn't have time to respond before everything was gone and she was stuck in the chain again.

"Freak!" Georgie cried out; "You're a freak!"

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"That's not true," Queenie huffed, pawing through her personal bookshelf on the hunt for something; "Descenscium isn't the only thing both voodoo and magic can do. There used to be something else,"

"Well, what it is?" asked an exasperated Zoe, who had taken to just lying there on the other girl's bed.

"If I knew that, would I still be looking for this book?" she rolled her eyes.

The conversation halted abruptly. Zoe knew better than to go through Queenie's things, it was actually pretty amazing that she was even being allowed on the bed right now, and the girl especially wouldn't like having Zoe's hands on a voodoo book.

"Do you remember what it did?"

"The main thing both voodoo and witch craft agree on is hell," she explained with more than her usual frustration, though that was more directed at her failure to find the book than at her friend; "I might be able to figure out how you get into another person's hell…" she set the book back down on her small bookshelf and let out hot air.

There was another drop in the conversation. Queenie, at that point, gave up her search through the bookshelf and moved over to the desk.

"…" Zoe started to say something, hesitated, then said it anyways; "…maybe we're thinking about this wrong,"

"How do you mean?" the larger girl asked with a stare that was either accusatory or curious and it was hard to tell which.

"…well, I'm just…thinking," she sat up, shifting her position restlessly; "When Misty first got stuck in hell, Myrtle said she was the only one who could get herself through it…and the Guidance spell is about helping a lost soul find its way back,"

The look gradually became more accusatory while she spoke.

"So…maybe it's not about _us_ getting in _there_ , maybe it's about _her_ getting out _here_ ,"

"Uh-huh," Queenie nodded, emphasizing her verbal response in a way that conveyed something more like 'you're an idiot.' Zoe sighed.

"I don't know, it's just an idea…and I'm kinda running out of those,"

Queenie kept looking for just a couple minutes longer, but it wasn't until she started re-organizing her belongings that she found it. It scarcely resembled a book, with the hard covering ripped off and the first few pages torn into a webbed pattern. "Here it is,"

Zoe looked at her with increased interest.

"It's called 'Ascendium,'"

"What's it do?"

When the human voodoo doll gave her nothing but an irritated stare back, she understood. Right, she probably wasn't sure, exactly.

"Well, bring it here, we can-"

"Uh-uh. There's no 'we,'" Queenie told her sternly.

"What? Why not?"

"Bitch," Queenie narrowed her eyes at her; "You don't even get the basic math,"

Zoe looked from her to the book she was holding in dismay, but it was true. This was probably some pretty advanced stuff, especially if Queenie couldn't explain it without the aid of a book. "Okay. What do you think I can do?"

"Go get her urn. It's in Ms. Cordelia's room. We can't bring her soul back with no body to return it to,"

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Since Nan had arrived in Misty's hell, two things had happened. First, the pauses between one re-play and the next had gotten longer, and each time they were long enough for Misty to come to grips with her own identity long enough to be angry about what kept happening before she began to lose those memories again. Second, there was now a gaping black hole in the corner of the wall and the ceiling, and it caught her eye. Over and over, it caught her eye, and when it did, she began to remember little fragments of things.

This time, when that bastard Georgie Clapton cried out "Freak! You're a freak!" she did more than stare at him in pained, shock confusion.

"I've had enougha ya callin' me a freak, Clapton," she told him with a sudden strength. It was a small change, but it was enough to break the chain. The frog she'd just brought back off the cold, metal tray jumped down off the science lab desk.

"Yeah?" he responded snidely; "What are you gonna do about it?"

"What's going on over here?" Mr. Crailey asked, approaching the desk with the living frog in his hand. Because of his interruption, Misty hadn't had a chance to come up with a response. Of course, Georgie was the teacher's pet, and he had a dislike of Misty that he didn't even conceal professionally, so she knew. She knew she was in trouble already.

"She brought the frog back to life!"

"Shut up! She just snuck a live one in," he scolded, setting the frog back down in front of her. "If you won't dissect a dead frog, you'll have to dissect a live one,"

This time, she didn't attempt to plead or reason with him. She just gave him a blank, vacant stare and said; "No,"

He held the scalpel deep in her palm, forcing her to hold it. "Now, you kill it or I'm going to have a talk with your parents,"

Fear. Automatic fear. In her mind, she saw herself burning- it was far too vivid to be a made up image, she could smell the gasoline and feel the singeing heat against her flesh. But it didn't make sense…not if she was still young enough to be in this classroom…she had to be making it up.

Was she making it up?

Her moments of indecision ended in her defeat. The frog's soft belly slid open under her hand. Warm, sticky blood squirted out of his guts and against her face.

Misty screamed in agony.


End file.
